Know You Better
by Roque Amadi
Summary: Elmont has been in love with Bette since he was six years old, but he knows she isn't interested in him. Set five years before the film; Elmont/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**  
Hello readers! This was originally going to be a oneshot but has grown into a work of at least a few chapters. Please let me know what you think of it; I hope you like it. Just to clarify, italics = flashback, regular font = current time.  
This is set roughly five years before the movie. The title (and the inspiration) comes from the lyrics of 'Everything Has Changed' by Taylor Swift.  
Thanks so much to my beta SerendipityAEY, who has, as always, made this about 50 times better than it would have been.

* * *

_**Know You Better**_

_'Cause all I know is we said "Hello"_  
_And your eyes look like coming home_  
_All I know is a simple name_  
_Everything has changed_  
_All I know as you held the door_  
_You'll be mine and I'll be yours_  
_All I know since yesterday is everything has changed._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"_Sir Elmont!"_

"_I'm here to rescue you, milady."_

"_Shh! The dragon's asleep. We have to be quiet."_

Bette raised her hand and knocked quietly on the door.

She heard the scrape of a chair, and boots on the wooden floor, crossing the room to the doorway. When he saw her standing in the hallway crying, concern fell across his face.

"Bette?"

"John…" she choked out, and stepped towards him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his shirt.

John Elmont maneuvered the door shut with one hand while the other rested on the back of her head gently.

"Easy, there…" when the door clicked shut, he put his other arm around her and looked down, speaking against her hair. "What is it, Lilibet?"

"It's Elric Hamon…" she choked out, her voice wound tight. "I saw him, outside the tavern, with that seamstress from the South side. They were... They were..." She couldn't bring herself to tell him _what_ they were doing, but she felt his muscles tense and his breathing change and she knew he'd got the idea.

Bette continued, struggling. "And I know you're just going to say you t-told me so-"

"No, of course not," he interrupted, rubbing her back soothingly. "I had hoped that, for you, he might change his ways."

"I don't care about _him_," she said. "It's just that he's the only suitor I've _ever _had and now he's gone – I may as well become a nun."

Elmont laughed softly. "That's ridiculous."

"It's not! A lot of the other Adept's are already engaged, and the ones that aren't have ten or twenty men courting them. My mother would be so ashamed of me."

"Lilibet," he said affectionately, pulling back. "Don't say things like that."

"It's true."

He steered her to the couch and sat her down, then crossed his arms and leaned against the sideboard. "It's not. Why would she have sent you to learn to be a healer if her only ambition was for you to be married off? If that was true, she could have easily arranged your marriage to any boy – me, probably."

Bette laughed, and Elmont turned away.

"Not likely," she said, "Your mother never approved of me."

She heard him pouring a glass of water. "Perhaps. But our fathers were best friends."

She sat back with a sigh. She didn't see the point of discussing this. It didn't matter anyway – Elmont was promised to the Duchess of Hillsbrad, if the rumours were true. She'd never had the heart to ask him about it… And she wasn't going to venture into that territory now.

He turned and stepped back over to her, passing her a glass of water and then taking a seat next to her, but not close enough to touch. He sat forward, with his elbows resting on his thighs. She resisted the urge to reach out to him, but it was difficult - it was always difficult. "What were you doing walking past the tavern this late at night anyway, Bette?"

"I had to take some medicine to Sir Miles. He has gout."

"Why couldn't one of the Novices take it?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're not my only patient, you know. Each Adept is assigned up to ten Knights at once."

"Hmm. Perhaps I should make use of that favour the King granted me, and request you as my personal and exclusive servant," he said playfully.

Bette scoffed, and hit him on the arm. "That would certainly do wonders for my reputation."

Elmont turned to her, indignant. "It certainly wouldn't do it any harm. I'm an honourable man, in case you haven't noticed. I know you still think I'm a little boy."

She smiled. "It's true, sometimes I still do."

He threw an arm around her neck in a headlock and pulled her close. "If I was still a little boy, I wouldn't have been able to do this."

She protested, her mouth muffled against his arm, and he released her, letting his arm rest around her comfortably. She lay her head on his shoulder, his shirt drying her damp face.

"You're right," she conceded. "Everything's changed now."

This time, he didn't move away. She rested against him while he talked about their childhood, telling her stories he remembered but she had forgotten, until all traces of Elric Hamon had left her mind. Until she was almost completely asleep, and almost completely happy.

Vaguely, she felt a soft pressure against the side of her forehead, and then she was swimming away into dreams.

"_Shh! The dragon's asleep. We have to be quiet."_

_Elmont's eyes widened, and he nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna lift you onto my horse."_

_He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. He couldn't actually lift her – he was smaller than her. He wasn't actually a knight, either; he was six years old._

_His small hand clasped around hers, and they crept out of the 'cave' – the dark area underneath the hanging branches of a willow. Elizabeth was five – almost five and a half – but she was taller than John - even if you counted his hair that stuck, irreversibly, directly upwards. The grown-ups said she should enjoy it while it lasted, but she didn't really believe he would ever grow taller than her._

_Suddenly, he spun around, pointing. "Uh-oh! The dragon's awake! Run, Bette – I'll fight him!"_

_He grabbed a branch lying on the ground. It was much too big, but he hauled it up and swung it at the air. Bette ran a few paces, then turned back and cheered him on while he fought valiantly. It didn't matter that there was nothing there. She could see the dragon clearly. It was a fathomless black, with burning red eyes and smoking nostrils._

"_Look out, the fire nearly got you!" she yelled, and John frantically patted out a flame on his sleeve. With a final heroic thrust, he killed the beast, and then staggered backwards, collapsing on the grass._

_Bette ran up to him and knelt down. _

"_Are you hurt?"_

"_Yes. It stabbed my eye out." He pointed to his left eye, closed tightly. _

"_It's okay, I'll fix it." She pulled up some grass and sprinkled it over his face. He blew some away from his mouth. She ran her hand gently over the side of his face in what she imagined was a kind healer-ly attitude. One day soon, she was going to the Order to start learning how to be a healer for real, and John was going to the city to become a page._

"_Fixed."_

_He opened his eye, and his blue gaze rested on her. "Now you have to kiss me."_

_Bette frowned, outraged. "Why?"_

"_Coz I rescued you."_

"_But my mommy says you're not s'pose to kiss anyone til you're married."_

_John sat up, crossing his legs. "That's okay. When I'm grown up, I'll marry you."_

"_You gotta propose first, silly. Maybe I'm already marrying someone else."_

_Affronted, he leaned back. "Who?" he exclaimed._

"_Michael."_

"_You can't marry him – he's your brother!"_

_Bette cocked her head, frowning. "Oh." _

_John got to his feet and went back to their secret stash in the cave-tree. Amongst other treasures, there was a rusty old ring they'd found in the woods. It had been very dirty, and the gemstone was missing from the socket, but it looked good enough now for them to imagine it held a gigantic diamond. He trotted back over to her, brushing it off, then knelt down._

"_Lilibet, will you marry me?"_

"_I told you not to call me that stupid name!" she said, taking the ring from him and considering it. _

"_But will you?"_

"_Okay." She put it over her finger where it hung loosely. "But you're not kissing me 'til you catch me!"_

_He grinned, and she turned and ran with a squeal of laughter. It wasn't fair – her legs were longer._

_John never caught her._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Bette woke with a start and tried to grasp the memory that was quickly falling to pieces. The clock tower was ringing, but it was coming from the wrong direction. She opened her eyes and remembered where she was: Elmont's little room in the castle. He wasn't here.

She sat up in the big, comfortable bed and pushed her hair out of her face. The shutters on the window were closed, but shafts of light were coming through the gaps. She counted seven chimes of the clock tower. She had to get to work.

Pushing the bedcovers aside, she slid her legs out and then paused. Her boots had been removed, and were sitting neatly by the edge of the bed. She didn't remember taking them off. The last thing she remembered, she was sitting on the couch, snotting all over his shoulder. She must have fallen asleep there. He must have carried her to the bed and – her cheeks reddened slightly – taken off her boots. Cautiously, she turned to look across at the other side of the bed. The pillow and covers were flat, undisturbed. He must have slept on the couch.

She ran a hand over the covers, and hesitantly pulled the sheet up to her nose. It smelled like him.

Bette shook her head to clear it. This whole scenario was probably far too intimate; the Mother Superior would definitely not approve. She could practically hear the old woman's lecture in her head. She ignored it.

She and John were just close friends; it was fine. It was normal.

Elmont struggled to concentrate on his work all morning. He hoped Bette would be alright today. He'd left a note for her to meet him after lunch at the stables – recently, he'd been teaching her to ride.

It wrenched his heart that he really couldn't do anything to help her. He wasn't exactly disappointed that Sir Halmon's true colours had finally come out - that fool wasn't good enough for her anyway.

Elmont sighed. The thing was, if she just said the word, he'd marry her in an instant. For his part, he'd loved her since he was six years old. But to her, he knew, he was just a friend. Thinking about it too much wasn't good for his health, and that feeling of a knife twisting in his chest was only going to get worse if he didn't find a way to distract himself soon. But it was difficult - it was always difficult. Fortunately, today he was only overseeing the training of a group of squires, so he could afford to glaze over occasionally. He just had to make sure to shout an instruction every now and then. He'd trained so many groups like this now, he could probably do it in his sleep.

His attention snapped back when he noticed some of the boys lingering by the sword rack, laughing about something. He caught the word 'slut' and his eyes narrowed.

"Something you'd like to share, Blake?"

The eighteen-year-old jumped and spun when Elmont spoke directly behind him.

"N-no, sir."

"It's time you started to take things more seriously. Trust me, boy, no one likes a fool. Especially not women."

The boy's face reddened, but his friends didn't dare laugh at him – not yet, anyway.

"Yes, sir."

They grabbed their training swords and moved off into the ring. Elmont sighed. What was it about young men that made them act like idiots? To his great regret, it was a disease he certainly hadn't escaped from himself.

_He left her when he was six, and didn't see her again until he was eighteen, freshly knighted, and freshly injured in his first battle._

"_Elizabeth! Bandages over here now, or this one's going to bleed out!"_

_Elmont was swimming through a haze of light and pain. He was on his back. He was being moved. He'd come off his horse and an enemy charger had swung past him, paused long enough to aim a few stabs down at Elmont with his pike while the younger man lay gasping on the ground. The third time he didn't block fast enough, and it sunk deep into his leg; then an arrow from his own ranks suddenly appeared buried in the other man's side, and his first proper fight was over._

_Healers blurred past him on both sides, their white pinafores already stained with blood. His stretcher was set down. It was noisy in the hastily-erected healer's tent – not at all like he'd imagined it. Somewhere nearby, a man was groaning in a way that turned Elmont's stomach. _

_Without warning, something was pressed up against his wound, and his vision rippled._

"_Wrap this," someone was demanding. "And try to keep him conscious."_

"_Yes, Ma'am."_

_More pressure… Blast it, he was going to… _

…

"_Sir Knight! Wake up!_

_Someone was patting his cheek._

"_Wake up, Sir – you need to stay awake."_

_Elmont swallowed with effort, his mouth bone dry. "Alright, I'm awake, I'm-"_

_He opened his eyes and paused. Leaning over him was a very pretty young healer, with bright yellow hair and calm green eyes, and – something about her face that was so familiar. _

"_Lilibet," he blurted, before he was even completely sure._

_She leaned back, frowning. "Sorry?"_

_The way she cocked her head, and the way her eyebrows contracted slightly into that frown – everything about her reeled in memories and images straight from the distant recesses of his mind. Sunlight, green grass, laughter. The freedom of his childhood, and his long lost best friend. He couldn't believe it - he couldn't believe he'd finally found her._

"_It's me," he said, smiling hugely. "John Elmont."_

_Her eyes widened. "No," she said, looking up and down over him, taking him in properly. He wished he wasn't on his back for this, but he was satisfied that at least he was heroically battle-worn._

"_You're – you're-" she put her hands over her mouth, endearingly. "You're really a Knight?"_

"_And you're really beautiful."_

_He couldn't help it. She raised an eyebrow at him, unperturbed, and then turned back to his wounded leg, and he shook his head at his own stupidity. _

"_I can't say the same for you at the moment, I'm afraid," she commented, out of his limited tunnel of sight again. "You're covered in dirt and blood."_

"_Come see me later then," he said hopefully. "Once I've cleaned up." Urgency was tugging at him; he couldn't let her disappear for a second time. He wanted to get to know her again. He wanted to see if he could make all the butterflies in the world migrate to her stomach, the way she was sending them to him right now._

_Her smile came back into his range of vision, and it warmed his heart. _

"_I will," she said. "We have a lot of catching up to do." _

_It was the perfect start. When he looked back on it, he wondered how it would have gone if he hadn't ruined everything. They might have been married by now._

_She had done as he'd asked, and came to find him in the camp later that night, after the battle was over. The problem was, he'd already been drinking with the other young men, and their exchange in the tent hadn't gone unnoticed._

"_So, who was that bird you were talking to in the tent, Elmont? She was one hot little wench!"_

"_She was someone I knew a long time ago," he said quietly. "We grew up together." _

_To Elmont's discomfort, the men burst out into laughter and catcalls at this piece of news. Another man spoke up, "Well, that's a good leg in, and no mistake! I don't reckon there's much competing with that."_

_Another called over, "Make sure you point her our way after you're done with her, Elmont!"_

_Amidst the laughter, Bette arrived out of the darkness beyond the fire, hesitant, and he hoped she hadn't heard. He got to his feet quickly, and ran a hand over his hair, wishing it would sit flat for once in his life - wishing he was taller, wishing his beard was less patchy, wishing he had been able to find some excuse to be dressed in his armour for this important moment, rather than just the plain tunic that was the only clean thing in his pack. _

_By contrast, he was stunned by how beautiful Bette was, especially without the blood-stained, shapeless pinafore. Her figure, beneath the plain blue dress, blew him away. _

_She paused at the edge of the camp, and the other mens' eyes followed his. Suddenly uneasy, he hesitated. What had he been thinking, asking her here - he didn't know how to talk to a girl! And now he was going to make a fool of himself in front of all the men. If he tried to say something charming, she would probably just laugh at him. _

_Another thought struck him - what if she had only come here so that she could be introduced to the older, more respected knights? Like Rowland, or Blackmore? _

"_What do you want?" he asked, and flinched when he realised how cold it had sounded. _

_Bette looked wounded, but said, "I – you said to come see you…"_

_One of the men called over, "He meant later, darlin' – in his tent."_

_They all laughed. Elmont chuckled appreciatively as well, and tried to ward off the butterflies, and the distracting images jumping into his head. Then he saw Bette's face, and suddenly realised it probably wasn't funny from her point of view. She turned and ran away, and he panicked. Why couldn't he have got this right? _

"_Wait!"_

_Unsteadily, he climbed over the other men sitting around the campfire, ignoring their laughter, and chased after her through the camp._

"_Bette! Bette, stop! Come on!"_

_She slowed to a halt, but didn't turn to face him. He knew he needed to calm her down._

"_Don't you think you're overreacting?" he said reasonably, and put a hand on her shoulder, narrow and warm, her wavy, straw-coloured hair brushing the top of it. She half turned to face him in response, and he swallowed nervously, hoping she couldn't tell that his hand was trembling. He wished he could touch her everywhere at once, but settled for brushing her cheek affectionately, the feel of her soft skin shooting from the backs of his fingers straight to his centre._

_She closed her eyes at his touch, and he was encouraged - maybe she did feel the same as him. He took half a step closer._

"_It was just a joke," he added._

_Her eyes flew open and she stepped hastily backwards, suddenly wary._

"_I - I don't find those kinds of jokes very funny," she said. "And I think men who joke about... that sort of thing... are coarse." _

_It stung him harshly. She thought he was coarse - common - nothing. It was as bad as an outright rejection. _

_Half bitter, half joking, he said, "You hang out with a lot of men at the convent, then, do you?"_

"_It's not a convent," she muttered softly, looking at the ground. "I've been attached to Ashfield House for the past eight months." She looked up at him steadily. "I know how Knights are supposed to act."_

_Elmont scoffed. "You've spent a few months treating rich old lords and sickly boys, so you think you're an expert in the ways of men, now?" he rolled his eyes. "Well, it's not my fault if you've never met a real man before."_

_Her eyes narrowed. Her shoulders set. Furious, she marched back up to him. "Never met a real man before?" she repeated as she reached him, and poked him in the chest. "Your father was a real man, John Elmont, and an honourable Knight. You're nothing but a horrible little boy. Next time, I hope you bleed out on the battlefield."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Bette finished her morning jobs half in a daze. She couldn't stop thinking about Elmont, and about how he was right – she did still think of him as a little boy, and it wasn't fair on him.

She also couldn't believe she'd laughed at him last night when he'd said they could have been married if her parents had wanted it. Turning it over in her head, and the way he had turned away from her... she was sure she had hurt him. It was a cruel thing to do. Sometimes, however, she couldn't help it - it was easier to think of him as he'd first known her, before either of them had heard the words 'Duchess of Hillsbrad', and before she'd had to fight to stop herself from caring too much.

Apprehensive, she made her way to the stables to meet him after lunch. He'd had a squire get their horses ready – hers, a small white mare, and his, a big brown gelding – and they were ready to go as soon as she arrived. The squire gave her a leg up and they made their way to the meadow with little more than a smile exchanged.

Elmont rushed straight into the lesson. Maybe he was embarrassed by how she'd clung to him last night - maybe he just wanted to forget it had happened.

"You have to remember, the only thing she cares about is food. That's why she wants to turn home."

"But I can't let her." Bette fumbled with the reins, tugging the mare's head around for the hundredth time.

"That's right. You must be more determined than she is."

"I don't suppose there's any nicer horses to learn on?"

John laughed from where he sat comfortably on his own horse. "She's the nicest we have. And it's important to learn this."

Bette laughed, and said wearily, "Well, I'm certainly becoming an expert at going in circles!"

Eventually, John gave in, and urged his own mount forward. He came up on Bette's left side, so close their legs pressed together, and his taller gelding hazed the white mare into the right direction.

Bette looked up at his face, less than a foot away.

He smiled down at her, with his silly little mustache and his hair that had never sat flat, even as a child.

"Thanks," she said, and he brushed the comment aside, reaching out to pat her mare's neck. Bette put her hand on his arm. "I mean, thanks for last night, as well. You should have just told me to get out – you must have slept terribly."

Elmont laughed and shook his head. "I didn't want to disturb you. I can sleep anywhere – don't worry about me." He moved his mount away from hers. "Now, we're going to trot to that marker," he directed, pointing. "Kick her up!"

She struggled along with her awful rising trot until she could feel her lunch returning to her. As they reached the marker, a rabbit shot out of the grass just ahead of Elmont's mount. The gelding jerked into half a rear, and scared her mare so much she shied sideways, but Bette didn't go with her. She hit the ground flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her. Elmont was there in a second.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, looking over her with wide eyes.

"Winded," she gasped out.

"Try to breathe slowly," he said. "It will pass soon."  
"I'm – the healer here," she wheezed.

"Always," he said gently, smiling. He rested on one knee beside her while she got her breathing under control again.

She put her hands over her face and groaned. "I can't believe I've fallen off already. I'm terrible."

Elmont's hands closed over hers, bringing them down from her face. "I've fallen off seventeen times. Usually in a more embarrassing way than that; one time my foot got caught and I was dragged halfway across the yard before the horse stopped."

She couldn't resist smiling at the way he said it, so rueful. He reached out and brushed some hair away from her cheek. His eyes were locked on hers. For a moment, she found it hard to breathe again – but it wasn't from being winded.

Abruptly, he sat back, and held his hand out to pull her to her feet. He steadied her with his hands on her shoulders for a moment.  
"Okay?" He asked, mischievous. "I can lend you my walking stick if you like."

Bette frowned. "You still have that thing?"

He shrugged. "Every time I go to get rid of it, it seems like bad luck. I always think, if I get rid of it, I'll surely break my leg, or something, and need it again. I do like to be prepared for everything."

She snorted. "How practical."

"Yes, that comes with my manliness."

Bette raised her eyebrows. "I suppose I wouldn't know – after all, I've never met a real man before."

Elmont was groaning and trying to cut her off before she even finished the sentence. "Alright, alright – I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

She tried to remain serious, but couldn't help laughing. "Yes, you did."

"Are you ever going to stop torturing me about that?" he asked, helpless.

"You haven't apologised enough times yet."

To her surprise, he dropped to one knee, her hand clasped between his, looking up at her with big eyes. "Lilibet, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. Then he added, "Actually, I've said I'm sorry approximately a thousand times. And I would also like to point out that it happened years ago, when I was a stupid teenager, which, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not anymore."

He stood to prove his point, demonstrating his height advantage.

"Yes; you keep saying that. One of these days I suppose I'll have to accept it."

"Good," he grinned. "I'll go catch your horse. We should start back if we want to be home before dark."

Elmont couldn't deny to himself that with any other student, he would make them ride their own horse home. With Bette, he couldn't resist.

"Want a lift?" he asked, holding his hand out to pull her up behind him on his own horse. She settled in, with her thighs encircling him, her small arms wrapped around his stomach, her chest pressing against his back. For a moment, he felt a little dizzy, and he suppressed a shiver. Perhaps he should have worn his armour after all.

They rode home with the mare's lead rope tied to his saddle, and the rocking motion of his mount's walk made things a little bit tight beneath his belt. He hoped she couldn't hear his breath hitching every now and then when she shifted against him; he was glad he hadn't sat her in front. Still, the way she clung tightly to him warmed his heart, and made him think that maybe he did stand a chance to win her, somehow. He knew she cared for him, even when they were younger, after he'd said those horrible things to her – their shared childhood gave them a link that wasn't so easily broken.

Meanwhile, Bette's thoughts were caught up in his mention of that walking stick. Elmont and her brother had been gone almost four years in the war, and when they'd returned, he had looked much older than his twenty-four years. In the meantime, she had moved up to the rank of Adept in the Order, and had been sent to live at the chapter attached to the Guardians. When he returned, she had been assigned to oversee his long-term recovery.

It had taken the better part of six months. Every day, she would walk with him around the castle grounds, or the woods. They went a little further each day. For a long time he used the walking stick, and she always carried an extra blanket to sit over his shoulders when he caught chill. He got cold very easily, especially early on – he had returned painfully thin as a result of fever.

"_I can't lift my sword."_

_He said it suddenly, while they were sitting at the edge of the lake. He had been home a month, and he spoke so little she had started to become used to silence._

_She turned to him, but his gaze remained fixed out across the water. "The fever deteriorated your muscles," she said gently. "It will take time, but you will regain your strength. You'll be as strong as you used to be…"_

_He was shaking his head, so she trailed off, waiting for him to speak again._

"_It's not that." His voice was rougher, older than it had been before he left. "Every time I try, all I see is blood."_

_Bette put her hand on his knee, still bony, but better than it had been at first. She digested his words for a few minutes. She knew straight away she would have to change her official recommendation on the length of time he would need to recover. That kind of wound was much more difficult to heal._

_Finally, she clicked her tongue. "What are you doing trying to lift a sword, anyway? I told you not to do any heavy lifting. You must follow my instructions."_

_He turned to look at her, the ghost of a smile glancing across his face. "Yes, Captain."_

_She wagged a finger at him in mock threat. "Do exactly as I say, and you'll be fine. I promise."_

_He turned back to the water, and she figured he'd expended his words for one day, but he spoke again. "I heard Sir Elric Hamon has petitioned the Mother-Superior for the right to court you."_

_She watched his face carefully, but couldn't read any hint of his feelings about this. His expression was neutral, stone cold, like it always was these days._

"_Yes… she probably won't grant it. Usually only Adept's over twenty-five are allowed to court."_

"_You shouldn't encourage him. He's a cad."_

"_I see."_

_He didn't speak again. She wondered if she would have preferred if it was him making the petition. The problem was, she could still remember what he'd said that night_ _when she first met him as an adult, and she still wasn't sure if she'd forgiven him. However, there certainly seemed to be no trace of that foolish young man anymore. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The sun was setting as they arrived back at the castle stables.

Elmont dismounted first, in order to help her down. His horse was much taller than the one she'd been practicing on. She threw her leg over to sit side-saddle, then slid down into his arms. His hands caught her waist, and her arms collected around his neck. Her landing was so terrible, she unbalanced slightly. He gripped her tightly to stop her from stumbling. She looked up at him, his face only a small distance away in the dim light, and felt her knees weaken slightly.

"You know," she said unsteadily, "Sometimes I wish you weren't attached to the Duchess."

Elmont blinked, and took a moment to answer. "Attached?" he repeated. "…Who?"

"A–aren't you promised to the Duchess of Hillsbrad?"

"No," Elmont frowned, shaking his head. "Wherever did you hear that?"

For a moment, she stood with her mouth hanging open. "It's – everyone! That's what everyone says! It's…" she trailed off.

"It's what?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Common knowledge," she finished meekly.

He lifted a hand to smooth his beard and nodded. "Well, I have to say, I'm flattered my personal life is something that can be considered common knowledge."

"John, seriously," she said, interrupting his joke and moving her hands down to grip his arms. "You're not?"

His gaze returned to her, a small smile on his lips. "No."

"I thought… All this time…"

"It's possible the Duchess herself spread that rumour. She's been known to do things like that in the past."

Bette didn't give a damn about the stupid Duchess. "So," she continued, "we're both single now."

He lowered his hand to brush over her hair lightly, his head tilting downwards, and there was a glint in his blue eyes when he responded. "Yes, I suppose so," he said, his voice suddenly deeper. Her stomach flipped, and her knees gave up entirely. She leaned back against the surface behind her, but then realised it was a horse who thought she was urging him to move away. Her support disappeared, and Elmont caught her around the waist when she stumbled, pulling her up against him. The way he held her made her heart race. She looked up into his face, and she was positive her heart was about to explode.

His head tilted further towards hers; their noses brushed together. Her body was telling her to run; she couldn't stay here, with him, like this… even if she wanted to. It was too much... Too much, and she couldn't think straight.

"I have to go," she said, the words stopping his lips only a centimetre from hers. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She couldn't bear to see the look on his face. A long pause, and she felt his breath against her cheek.

"Now?"

"The Mother-Superior will be announcing me dead if I don't show up soon," she said, trying to force some humour into her voice, but failing. Her cheeks burning red, she edged away from his arms, needing to be free for just a moment, just one second, free to think and try to understand what was happening. What had just happened. Halfway across the stall, she turned back to look at him, and wished she hadn't. The rejection in his eyes was palpable. She started to say something to force a sense of normality back, but couldn't. Instead, she felt her throat close up.

"Sorry," she choked out, and ran for it.

It was two days later when she was once again called out late at night to take medicine to Sir Miles. She stopped in at the tavern on the way there to pick up some trout for his dinner; she knew he wasn't eating properly. While she waited by the kitchen door, half asleep, she phased out completely, going back, once again, to that moment in the stable with Elmont. She still didn't quite understand what had happened, but she knew one thing for certain; he wasn't a little boy anymore, and she wasn't a little girl, and everything had changed.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when something jerked her arm.

"Elizabeth! My number one girl! How's it going?"

It was Elric Hamon, tugging her towards him – tall, powerful, drunk. Bette was speechless. A crowd of Hamon's friends had come to the bar, and were sending catcalls her way.

"Sir Hamon…" she choked out, "Please, don't…"

"Aww, she's playing hard to get tonight, boys!" he shouted to his friends.

"Please," she said, more insistently, prying her arm away from his grip. "I saw you the other night with that woman – I thought we were through!"

"What's that, love?" he asked. He was so drunk he could hardly keep his attention on her for more than a second."

At that moment, the chef came through the door, passing her Sir Miles' trout wrapped in a cloth. He looked over the situation quickly and asked Bette, "Is he bothering you?"

"No, it's fine, he-"

"What's that, fatty?" Hamon demanded, turning from Bette to size up the chef, also quite a large man. "I've petitioned to court her, I'll have you know – you don't need to worry."

"You've petitioned to court most girls in the city, Sir Hamon," the chef said in a low voice. "And I'm getting tired of you harassing them in my tavern."

Hamon snapped so quickly she almost missed it. The chef took a powerful fist straight in his belly, but it didn't knock him down. The fight broke out suddenly, but it wasn't going to be a quick one.

Bette scrambled out of the way as the two men crashed across the room, chairs and tables flying out of their way. She looked around for an escape, but couldn't find anything. She had to stay pressed against the wall while the two men tore pieces out of each other.

Finally, the guards arrived.

"City Guard! Break it up!" Two men in white armour pulled the fighters apart, and in the gap between them, Bette could see through to the doorway. Elmont stood there in his full armour, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"What happened here?" he demanded, his eyes sweeping the room, stopping halfway to fix on her.

The chef and Sir Hamon started yelling their explanations at him, but Bette had a feeling he couldn't hear them. He was frozen in place, looking between her, the wreckage in the room, and Sir Hamon.

He held up a hand.

"Adept," he addressed her, formally. "Did this Knight hurt you?"

Bette swallowed nervously. She didn't want Elmont to go overboard. "He attempted to accost me, but the chef stepped in on my behalf."

"Arrest him," Elmont directed the City Guards. Hamon bellowed in rage.

"I did no such thing – I didn't even touch her! You will take the word of a girl over mine? I am a Knight!"

Elmont ignored him. The Guards hauled him outside. Elmont directed the people still present to help clean up the mess. Bette made her way over to him shyly.

They didn't speak. With a glance, she followed him outside, where the guards were struggling to contain Hamon from breaking free of their grip.

"What does it matter, anyway?" he screamed at Elmont. "I have courting permission from her Order."

Elmont paused as he passed him. "That's fine," he said calmly. "The problem is, you don't have permission from me."

And with that, quite suddenly, Elmont punched the man in the face – one strike, squarely over his eyebrow, and he dropped. Hamon's eyebrow split, and the blood dripped down his face as he lay on the ground, utterly out cold.

Bette swallowed, somewhat shocked. She realised she had never actually seen him fight before.

"Nice one, Sir!" one of the City Guards exclaimed. "He'll be a little easier to manage now." The pair picked him up by the elbows and dragged him away.

Elmont watched him go. "Unfortunately, he's not under my command. I'd have him shovelling manure for at least a decade." He ran a hand over his mustache. "Although, I may be able to pull some strings…"

Bette laughed, relieved and exhausted, and tugged on his elbow. "Come on – let's get out of here."

He walked her the rest of the way to deliver the medicine and the trout. He held the door for her as they left, and continued back through the dark, quiet streets to the chapter where she lived. At the front steps, they paused. Men weren't allowed inside.

Bette turned to face him, hesitated, then hugged him fiercely, tightly. He exhaled with an 'oomf' and stepped backwards, and laughed.

"Thank you for… everything," she said.

"I'd do anything for you, milady."

His simple words overwhelmed her. She knew it was true - it probably had always been true, she'd just been too slow to notice. He was not involved with anyone else. He'd been waiting for her. It had taken some time for her to process, to fully believe that she wasn't imagining it, but now he was standing right here in front of her, and for the first time she was sure.

She couldn't think of anything to say - instead, she kissed him. Finally.

He froze beneath the touch of her lips, momentarily stunned. She ran her hands through his hair and over the nape of his neck, wishing the armour didn't stop her from going lower. After a moment, he brought his hands up to her waist, pulled her closer, and deepened the kiss. The armor against her chest was hard, but his hands on her back, and his lips, were soft and tender.

She had been kissed a few times before, but it had never been like this. This felt like coming home.

He pulled back. "I didn't know you…" She cut him off by claiming his lips again, then breaking away and resting her forehead against his. "I didn't know you felt like that," he finished.

"I thought you were promised to that Duchess!" she exclaimed. "I thought you had been for years!"

He shook his head slightly, smiling. "Lilibet… You're my earliest, my brightest memory."

"You're mine, too… but I thought… and I only let Sir Hamon try because…" she sighed, and looked away. "I'm sorry, John."

"Don't apologise," he said, his finger on her cheek urging her head gently back to meet his eyes. "Besides, if you'd attempted to marry him, I would have simply claimed it was invalid."

She frowned. "Huh?"

"Well, you agreed to marry me a long time ago."

She raised an eyebrow. "When I was five."

He smiled. "You remember."

She laughed. "Well, Sir Elmont... I hope you don't expect me to be an easy catch. I have no idea what to expect in these matters - after all, I've never met a real-"

He kissed her before she could finish.

* * *

The end – maybe?


End file.
